あさばか
by Feral Phoenix
Summary: They're just an ordinary couple. It's just the start of another ordinary day. — AU, GulcasaNessiah. crazy about mornings.


あさばか

DISCLAIMER: I don't own Yggdra Union. This oneshot comes from my favorite breakfast here at college, and the title means "crazy about mornings".

Neither of them were really morning people, but Nessiah was a _breakfast_ person. And the view of the sunrise from the kitchen window wasn't bad by any means. So Gulcasa had gotten used to the routine enough by now to wake up at nine-thirty and not even be tired as he sorted ingredients across the countertop, yanking his hair back into a rough knot at the nape of his neck, out of the way.

He'd always liked cooking, really. There was an art to it that made him feel accomplished, an easiness to the movements that was always kind of fun. So he was smiling as he cracked eggs and let them spill into a mixing bowl, his other hand closed lightly on the skillet's handle, rolling it on the stovetop to spread the cooking oil.

Lured by the sound of the oil crackling, Nessiah stumbled into the room; alerted by the soft steps, Gulcasa looked up at him. The little blond was wearing a button-down white shirt that was adorably oversized (and looked suspiciously as though it had been pulled from Gulcasa's hamper), a pair of worn slippers, and nothing else. His hair was tumbled and disordered, and he was scrubbing sleepily at his face with a hand that just peeped out of his too-long sleeve.

Gulcasa couldn't help but smile. "Good morning, Nessa."

"Nn." Nessiah covered a yawn with one hand and offered a little wave with the other, and ambled over to the coffeepot and the mugs Gulcasa had set out there.

"The usual?" Gulcasa asked, watching him pour the coffee and shake creamer into it.

"Mn." Nessiah dipped his chin and waved a hand at Gulcasa, now stirring the coffee. Gulcasa shook his head, grinned, and turned to the cutting board. He'd already chopped little cubes of ham, bacon, peppers, sausage, spinach, and mushrooms—Nessiah liked his omelets _loaded._ It was one of the nice things about living with someone who had predictable tastes. Gulcasa gathered up the chopped ingredients and tossed them into the skillet, shaking it back and forth a little to get the contents to settle. They started to sizzle a few moments later; it was a satisfying, homey sound.

Letting the skillet rest for a moment, Gulcasa turned towards Nessiah again—his lover was leaning against the counter, drinking coffee with his hand cupped along the bottom of the mug as if he were at a tea ceremony. "Mix this for me?" he asked lightly, picking up a whisk and using it to indicate the eggs in the silver bowl. Nessiah set his mug down, nodded, and walked over with his hands held out. Gulcasa passed bowl and whisk, and turned back to the cutting board as Nessiah got to work.

He loved these mornings so much.

"Plate," he said, and watched as Nessiah traded the mixing bowl for one, clattering through the cabinets to retrieve it as Gulcasa ladled mixed egg into the skillet.

"I never get tired of watching you do that," Nessiah remarked as Gulcasa shook the skillet again, evening it out. "Wish I could."

Gulcasa raised his eyebrows, turning towards where Nessiah was leaning on the counter, watching him. "…You want to try?"

Nessiah stood up straight and held his hands up, shaking his head. "No, not really. You know I can barely cook…"

"It's not hard," Gulcasa pointed out, "and you watch me just about every day. I'll help. And you can teach me to make French toast later," he added teasingly.

Nessiah shook his head and rolled his eyes. "And have you surpass me at my only culinary skill? Thank you, but I'll pass on the last." But he pushed his sleeves up, folding them to the elbow, and hesitantly stood at Gulcasa's.

"Here..." Gulcasa took a step back to let Nessiah stand in front of him, and settled his lover's hand over the skillet's handle, and rested his own a little lower, covering the back of Nessiah's hand and his wrist. "And pick up the spatula. If there are bubbles in the egg, push them flat with it; just shake it back and forth a little like—right. You've got it. See? Now—just poke the spatula under the egg and lift it up to see if it's still runny."

As close together as they were standing, Gulcasa could tell that Nessiah was very tense—even biting his lip, watching the cooking omelet _very intently._ It made Gulcasa smile to see how seriously Nessiah took it—but honestly, it was part of Nessiah's charm, and it would probably just make him angry to tell him that cooking was easier if you didn't sweat it so much.

"Looks like it's about ready. Time to flip it."

Nessiah flinched a little and looked up over his shoulder at Gulcasa. "But—wait, um—"

"Eyes on the pan. Pay attention to how I do this—" And Gulcasa leaned down a little, shuffled the skillet back and forth, and gave it a little jump forwards and up (Nessiah actually yelped a little; Gulcasa fought not to laugh). It sent the omelet in a controlled arc into the air; Gulcasa lifted the pan (and Nessiah's hand with it) to catch it as it came down, and shuffled it once more as he settled it back on the burner. "See? Easy."

"Uu." The little huff Nessiah made was distinctly unimpressed, sulky, and no small bit adorable.

"Now just slide it onto the plate and it's done," Gulcasa instructed after a few more moments. He stepped back, let Nessiah do so himself; when his lover turned, took his omelet to the table, and sat down with a sigh, he shrugged. "See? It's not that bad."

"…If you say so."

---

The omelet was a little burnt, a little lopsided. Gulcasa ate it all the same.

"It would be better if you made yourself one," Nessiah pointed out, red-faced, his voice muffled in his arms—they were crossed on the table, his face half-buried in them.

"I'm fine with this," Gulcasa assured him. "Hell, it's better than _my_ first try."

"…" Nessiah pushed his chair back and stood. "I… I'll make the French toast now."

Gulcasa shrugged and smiled. "Fine. I've got KP."

"…sure."

Leaning back in his chair, Gulcasa finished off the omelet. It was crunchy, singed, and tasted a little odd. But watching Nessiah struggling over making it had been _priceless—_there weren't very many things that could get Nessiah to make those kinds of faces nowadays. And the comparison to his movements now—practiced but a little jerky, easy but still careful, soft azure eyes skipping from the pan to the spices Gulcasa had set out on the counter, nearly obscured under pale gold lashes. His hands were small, but elegant; he pursed his lips while he fussed with the tongs.

"Hey," Gulcasa said.

Nessiah glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a long-suffering expression.

"I love you."

That long-suffering expression froze into surprise, then softened into a gentle smile as Nessiah turned back to the stovetop.

"…I love you, too."

おわり。


End file.
